


Love & Cephlapods

by squiggyrag



Category: Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 01:24:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squiggyrag/pseuds/squiggyrag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Steve Rogers is a Park Ranger and Loki is a hipster eco-activist determined to take down the Park Department, and they Fall In Love. (yeah idek)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lise/gifts).



An old Coast Guard buddy of Steve’s taught him this trick for when he’s feeling overwhelmed. He closes his eyes and thinks of calming things. It didn’t work at first, Dugan’s suggestions of islands with softly swaying palm trees and brightly colored birds made him _more_ anxious. He didn’t like the idea of hot sun in his eyes, became overly concerned with sand filling his regulation boots, and Steve really just isn’t a brightly colored bird person. Dugan ran his fingers through his non-regulation-because-no-one-gave-a-fuck-about-regs-besides-Steve beard with some thought, and asked what exactly Steve found calming. It only took a few seconds, and  Steve found his happy place.

When he’s stressed, he goes back to New York in the fall. He stands by the tracks of the metro and feels the wind rushing through his hair as it passes. He hears the sounds of basketballs dribbling, half understood phrases in Spanish ringing through the air, and the cooing of pigeons.  He smells trash and freshly baked bread. He studies the architecture of buildings, tracing the lines in the air with fingers that long for a pencil.

This is where Steve is now, because it’s comforting. It’s a hell of a lot easier than trying to understand why he’s out on a boat in the thrashing Pacific Ocean, bone-wet from the unrelenting rain,  breaking every rule his new boss gave him, in order to help a wannabe ecoterrorist named after a norse god—Loki, really?— locate a never-before-heard-of cephlapod that may or may not exist.

The boat keens in the wind and because in his happy place, Steve doesn’t need to hold onto the railing with clenched fists, he loses his grip and slams forward. It’s only his quick reflexes that cause him to kick forward and catch his feet under the front of the boat before he can flip overboard.

“Watch it!” Loki barks at him, and taking one hand off of the steering wheel, pushes Steve back down into his seat with his arm.

“Sorry.” Steve mumbles. Bye bye happy place. He’s going to need all his focus for this. Loki’s arm is still across his chest, holding firm like a replacement seatbelt for the one the boat is lacking. “I’ll hold the rail tighter, Loki.”

Loki looks at Steve. His face is drawn tight. “I can’t have you falling in.”

“I won’t.” Steve swallows and gives him a little smile. “I know you wouldn’t stop to pull me out.”

“Well, there’s that.” Loki pulls his arm off and grasps the steering wheel again with both hands. “There are other reasons too.”

Steve feels a flush of warmth at the little grin on Loki’s face, and he grips the railing, looking out into the water for signs of their quarry.

Because if there’s anything more confusing to Steve than being on a wild squid-chase with a wannabe ecoterrorist that’s named after a Norse god, it’s the fact that only six hours earlier, that same man was naked in his bed.

 

 


	2. Six Rangers Walk Into a Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve tries to socialize, with limited success.

 This is where it starts.

Steve’s posting as a Washington State Park Ranger is at Fort Warden, near Port Townsden. Right away he likes it. It feels..remote. Port Townsden is a tourist town, but there isn’t any place on the Olympic Peninsula that’s not, and at least now, in the dreary rain-soaked days of March, he mostly meets locals. They’re aren’t like New Yorkers, they smile over the brims of their espresso drinks, but keep their distance, and it’s exactly what Steve needs. He needs space. He needs all the space in the world.

His co-workers are another story. He’s allowed to live in the ranger cabin as a temporary arrangement. His roommate is fellow ranger Tony Stark, who as far as he can tell, has been living there as a “temporary arrangement” since he started three years ago. When Steve had first arrived at the cabin, he found Tony sitting on the floor, surrounded by half a dozen rifles in various levels of disassemblage, and holding a mini blow torch to the barrel of what looked suspiciously like a sawed off shotgun.

Tony had jumped up, knocking the weapon onto the floor, and held his hands out. “Roomie!”  

Steve’s eyes fixated on Tony’s hands, where the flame of the still-on blowtorch bobbed dangerously closely to the low hanging lights . “Uh. Maybe you should turn that off.”

“Oh, this?” Tony eased his thumb off the torch til it went out and shrugged, his hands still up in grand gesture. “I find that lightbulbs are only _slightly_ highly flammable.”

“Uh-huh.” Steve said, looking down at the floor again to the discarded shotgun. “And is that only _slightly_ highly illegal?”

“Ah, this.” Tony dropped down to the floor and stroked the shotgun like it was a prize-winning cat. “Well, the nice part about being the man is how you don’t have to listen to the man, am I right?”

Instinctively, Steve had stiffened and said “No.”

All the welcome wagon cheer drained out of Tony’s face. “When I heard we were getting fresh meat from the Coast Guard, I was imagining some pothead flunkie, not Mr. Military.”

Steve found he couldn’t say anything to that. Tony had picked up the pieces of his gun smorgasbord, sulking like a small child being forced to clean their room, and then stalked out the door.

Ever since then, Tony has been cagey around him, and must have spread word to the other rangers, because every time Steve walks up to greet them, the conversation stops.  Space, he wants, but amicable space, not distrust.

So when Natasha Romanoff invites him to join the rest of the rangers for a drink, he’s surprised but says yes, hoping he can do some damage control. Romanoff—as he finds himself thinking of her, “Carol”and “Jessica” are fine for the other female rangers, but somehow saying “Natasha” to her feels uncomfortably intimate—is an interesting woman. He doesn’t know much about her, other than she’s a Russian immigrant and according to Tony, “half bitch, half bro, and all mystery”, but he feels comfortable around her, because it’s obvious she’s got secrets and isn’t interested in heart-to-hearts about her inner life. Steve’s used to being transparent, so he takes mental notes from the casual way she deflects questions about her past and sidesteps anything personal.

When he arrives at the bar, however, Romanoff’s not there. It’s just Tony, Jessica, and Thor. Thor’s throwing darts; Jessica and Tony are sitting at the table, egging him on and then exchanging conspiratorial laughs when he’s not looking.  It’s the worst possible crowd for Steve, because between Tony’s mercurial brattiness, Jessica’s sardonic sharpness and Thor’s earnest interest, there’s no way he can fly under the radar. Still, he pushes forward and sits down at the table.

“New Ranger Steve!” Thor proclaims and then lurches towards him, shaking his hand aggressively.  “It is good to see you out.”

“Thor.” Steve says, too formally. “It’s good to see you too.”

“Have a seat, New Ranger Steve.” Jessica pulls out the chair next to her and taps it with her fingers.  “Enjoy the show.”

He sits down. Tony’s sitting across from him, and Steve watches Thor’s dart throwing until he realizes the other man is staring at him. He’s not sure what Tony’s motivation is, so he just stares back with a mild expression until Tony winks and then abruptly speaks.  “Roomie! What’s your poison? Drew’s buying.”

“Hell yeah!” Jessica says to Thor, who’s managed to get another one in the bullseye. “Wait, what the hell? I am so not.”

“She so is.”

 Jessica flips her long brown hair and gives Steve a “can- you- believe- this -fucker” look, which makes him laugh.

Tony raises an eyebrow and gives Steve an appraising look. “Wow, Jess. You got Crew Cut here to laugh, so I’ll let you off the hook. Whaddya want, buddy?”

Steve reaches up and touches his hair, which is long and shaggy, grown down almost past his ears. He needs a haircut. “I don’t have a crew cut.”

“But you did, didn’t you.” Tony leans forward on his elbows and rests his head on his palms. “You had one for so long that you don’t know what to do with all this hair. It’s like wearing a hat. You want to cut it so badly, to go back to the crew cut. But." He leans back and steeples his fingers together. “You don’t. Now, that’s what intrigues me.”

There’s a silence where Steve just stares at Tony, and then Jessica leans over to him and fake-whispers. “Yes, he’s always like this. Unfortunately he’s the only one rich enough to afford the professional help he so desperately needs so…” she trails off, grinning.

 “He’s rich?”

“Mega-mega rich.” Jessica nods. “Filthy rich.”

“I’m right here! And I prefer the term poverty-challenged.” Tony says, shrugging, and then casts a wicked grin at Jessica. “But you can call me filthy any day, Drew.”

Steve frowns. “Then why are you still living in the cabin?”

“Have you seen the view from the back porch?”  

It’s meant to end the line of inquiry, but Steve’s frustrated enough with Tony’s flippancy that he forgets to be New Steve, the Steve that Lets Things Go. “I don’t think that’s the truth.” 

“Oh yeah, Crew Cut? We playing that game? Cuz that’s a whole nother game, you know. And I think, as the guest, you get to go first. Why did you leave the Coast Guard?”

Steve wants to say that the truth is not a game. He wants to throw an easy answer in Tony’s face and demand he do the same, but he can’t. He’s New Steve, the Steve who plays games he’s not good at, and he’s just lost. “Beer.”

“What?”

“I’ll have a beer. Something dark.”

#

Two beers later, and Steve’s feeling relaxed. Romanoff’s shown up, along with Carol, and they’re all (well, minus Thor, who is _still_ playing darts, maybe it’s some kind of Scandinavian thing?) using Steve’s newness to tell their favorite stories of the job.

“So yeah. It’s 3am and I’ve got this guy just freaking out on the phone. He’s yelling SMALL BEARS! SMALL BEARS!’—oh, shit, sorry.” Carol talks with her hands, and she’s just knocked over Steve’s almost empty beer. He waves her off. “I mean, if it was any other time, I am sure I would have known.  I wouldn’t have run over there, tranquilizer guns in hand and adrenaline pumping…but…It was 3am and I’d just woken up. So I get there and this guy is hiding in his tent, just quaking in fear. He can’t even speak, he just raises up one finger and points behind me so I spin around and see a shape in the forest. It’s coming towards me, like fucking really fast, and before I can think, I pull the trigger.”

Carol pauses, presumably for dramatic effect, and before she can continue, Jessica (who’s on drink #3, for the record), blurts out. “IT WAS A RACCOON, SHE SHOT A FUCKING RACCOON TO DEATH WITH A TRANQUILIZER GUN.” and falls over on top of Steve, laughing.

Steve pushes her up off his lap and she leans against her chair, still cracking up.

“Ugh, you’re such a lightweight.” Carol glares at Jess, who doesn’t notice and would be too drunk to care if she had. “And you ruined my story.”

“You…ruined…a raccoon.” Jessica slurs and then belches loudly.

“You’re such an asshole, I—“

“Hey, speaking of assholes.” Tony cuts in. “Remember that little twerp who painted all the trees orange last year so that no one could go hunting for weeks? Real fucking weirdo, that one…what was his name.”

There’s a crash as Thor misses his target and swirls around to the table. “Careful, Tony! You speak of my brother. And Loki is a good man”

“Oh please.” Tony scoffs. “In what universe is Loki a _good man_?  He’s a spoiled twerp who would be locked up if it weren’t for his Scandinavian Richie-rich wonderland family and their friendship with the Governor.”

“Tony, your father is friends with the _President._ ” Romanoff interjects. “So I’m not sure why you’re acting like their money is a bad thing. Not to mention that Thor’s from the same family?”

“And you!” Tony said, without any hesitation, thumping Thor on the back. “Are a credit to your fine family. Look at you, working hard and not spending all your time walking around in $100 skinny jeans, not making life hard for regular folk by being an eco-terrorist and—“

“My brother is not a terrorist.” Thor snaps, and then looks warily at Steve. “Tony is exaggerating.”

“Okay.” Steve puts his hands up. “I believe you.”

 “The point is, he’s a twerp. “ Tony slurs, and Steve doesn’t miss the glares that head his way from the rest of the table.

“He hasn’t had the easiest time.” Thor says softly, but he lets the matter drop.  Steve can tell by the way that he only half listens to the conversation afterwards that he’s still troubled, and Steve reminds himself to ask Thor about it later. Then he un-reminds himself, because he’s not that Steve anymore.

He’s still thinking about it later, when he and Tony walk out the parking lot. Steve stares at his truck dumbly. He’s _way too_ drunk to drive, and there’s no way Tony is sober enough to—

\--and Tony’s got his keys and is climbing into the front. Steve hops in the passenger side and reaches over to grab Tony’s arm. “No way. You can’t drive.”

Tony pats his hand “I’m not drunk.”

“You had just as many drinks as me, and you couldn’t even _not_ be an asshole to Thor.”

“They were non-alcoholic.” Tony looks at Steve with stone-dead soberness, and Steve realizes that he _isn’t_ drunk. “I don’t drink. Not anymore.”

There’s something in that, but Steve’s finally got the hang of this Letting Stuff Go, at least for tonight, so instead he just shakes his head. “So…you are just an asshole.”

“You’ve finally figured me out.” Tony starts the car. “Let’s get you home, roomie.” 


	3. Meet-Cute, with Mollusks

It is still dark outside when Steve gets the call.  His ring tone—a midi version of “SexyBack”, he's pretty sure Danvers did it last night--wakes him from a pleasant dream that fades as he turns over and stretches his arm towards his cell phone. 

It’s Fury. Of course. Who else would call him this early?

“Rogers.” He mumbles into the phone.

“I need you at the lighthouse. ASAP.” And then the dialtone.  No reason, no context, not even _which_ lighthouse—he can reasonably guess that Fury means Admiralty Inlet, but there are two after all.  Steve sighs. He likes his boss alright, but he is a far cry from familiar routines of his Coast Guard COs.

_Well, you left the Coast Guard for a reason, Steve._ He sits up and shakes his head, surveying the house. Tony’s gone—or maybe never even slept here, who knows.  There is leftover coffee in the pot, still warm from the evening before.  He can’t find his car mug, so pours it into a styrofoam cup. He buttons up a neatly pressed park service jacket over a tank top, slides into his pants and boots, grabs his gun, and puts his hand on the doorknob before turning back to give one last longing look at his bed.  Nothing is left of his dream but a vague memory of warm sun, blue sea, and the open arms of another person.

Compared to that, the day that greets him is a slap in the face. It’s rainy. _It always rains here_ , Steve thinks bitterly, although he knows it isn’t true. There had been weeks of sunshine and warm days this summer, as beautiful and calming as he’d ever experienced. But now it is nothing but rain and dreary thick mud. _You’re just mad because you’re_ _hungover._ This is unfortunately true.  He grabs his ranger hat off the porch and runs for the jeep, spilling most of his coffee in the process.

When Steve arrives at the lighthouse, he only sees Fury’s car. Steve has never been called in as Fury’s first choice of backup before, and despite his exhaustion, he feels a swell of pride.

He peeks his head inside and not finding anyone, lingers on the porch to drink the dregs of his coffee before dodging back into the rain to. He can see the Sound from where he stands. The dark grey salt water, framed by the misty, half cloud hidden Olympics, is completely still except for the twinkling of raindrops. It is sort of beautiful, he thinks, in a miserable way.  Then he hears a loud shout from down by the beach, and he throws his cup aside to investigate.

“This is your last warning.” Fury’s voice booms through the mist that covers the dock. “Stop what you are doing, or I will have you arrested.”

As he gets closer, the situation comes into full view. Fury is standing on the beach, hands on both hips, a very frustrated look on his face.  There is another man a few feet into the water, holding a bucket. He is tall and lean, with dark messy hair. Steve’s first thought is that he’d be handsome, if he wasn’t wearing those ripped jeans and faded Greenpeace tshirt. His second is, what the hell is in the bucket?

“On what authority?”

“What the hell kind of dumbass question is that?” demands Fury, sliding one hand over to rest on his gun.

The other man sees this gesture and stiffens. “You fascist ass—“

“Uh, sir?” Steve cuts in, hoping to diffuse the situation.

Fury turns and scowls. “What the hell you doing here, Rogers? I called Odins in.”

“No, you called me.” Steve says in an even voice, but he can’t resist letting some bitterness out.  “By accident, it seems.

“Oh shit, don’t take it so personal. I just always call him to deal with _this”_ Fury jabs a finger at the man in the water, “piece of shit Loki.”

“I think I can…” Steve trails off as he registers the name. “Wait, Loki? Thor’s brother, Loki?”

“You think there are very many Loki’s running around here?” Fury sighs. “Yeah, Thor’s brother. And because of that, I am trying _very hard_ not to throw his ass in jail for stealing all these goddamn fish but—“

“Step-brother!” The man in the water—Loki—says sharply. “I’m his _step-brother_ , and these aren’t fish, they are _mollusks._ I can’t believe my taxes pay your salary and you don’t even know the difference _.”_

“I know the dif--.”  Fury grits his teeth as he struggles to keep his calm.  “It doesn’t matter what they are, you can’t just waltz in here and STEAL them! Just…put the bucket down, Loki.”

 “I’m not stealing them. I’m _saving_ them.” Loki looks over at Steve, almost pleadingly, but before Steve can respond, he shakes his head and gives Fury a bullheaded look.  “I won’t stop. You can’t stop me.”

Fury pulls out his radio. “Okay, that’s it, I’m calling this in.”

Steve remembers the distant look in Thor’s face the night before, and so before Fury can make good on his threat, he holds his hands up.

“Wait. Let me see if I can resolve this.”

“What?”

“I… I just think there’s a better solution here.”  Loki’s eyes snap back to him and Steve shrugs.

Fury lowers the radio. “Fine, you want to play Hippie Whisperer , that’s your business. But I am out of here. This better be resolved before I wake up.”

And he stalks off, not bothering to look at either of them.

Loki stands silently in the water, still watching Steve. Steve can’t help but notice his eyes. They’re green, a green so bright that they seem out of place.

 “So.” Steve coughs. “Tell me about your mollusks.”

“Why?”

“Umm..”  Steve shifts nervously. “So..I can..help you?”

“You’re not going to help me.” Loki informs him with a flat voice.

Why does everyone think they have him all figured out after five minutes? Steve crosses his arms in frustration, then worries that it makes him appear too closed off and lets them fall to his sides.  “Yeah, let me decide that.”

Loki steps forward onto the beach and sets the bucket down in front of Steve. “You know what these are?”

There are six creatures in the bucket. They’re rainbow speckled, about the size of his hand, and they have holes along the top shell, long tendrils that float out in front, and short hairs all along the sides. Steve frowns. He hasn’t had time to learn _all_ the fauna of the Pacific Northwest, but this looks fairly straightforward. “Are…they abalone?”

He can tell from Loki’s raised eyebrow that he’s partially right. Steve gives them another look over.  “We had them in California, too. Different looking than this. Come to think of it…I don’t think I’ve ever seen abalone with that coloring.”

“And you won’t.” Loki says softly. “If the rangers have anything to say about it. This is _Haliotis asgarda_ You’re looking at some of the last remaining specimens.

“It’s endangered?”

“If you don’t help me, ranger.” Loki looks down at the bucket. “They’re extinct.”

 “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”  Steve offers out his hand. “I’m Steve, by the way. Just tell me what I can do help.”

Loki hesitates, like he’s waiting for the punchline. “It’s going to take all morning.”

“Good thing I had coffee.”

“Was it strong?”

“No.” Steve admits. “It was…from last night.”

“Ha.” Loki looks relieved, as if this piece of information has finally explained something to him.  He takes Steve’s hand, shakes it firmly, and releases. “We’ll have to get you some better coffee first.”

 


	4. Some Heroism but Mostly Stumbling

Before today, all Steve really knew about abalone is that they taste good on pizza. Now, he knows a lot of things about them, like that they are dying out partly due to overfishing, and he has no idea why, because he’s also learned this: they are really fucking hard to catch.  They come in with the waves, tangled in long strands of seaweed, and whenever he reaches out to grab them with his hands, they slip right through.

He lets out a loud groan of frustration as one slides away from him for what seems like the hundredth time. How does Loki do it? Steve has always been proud of his fast reflexes, but the other man seems almost inhuman. He darts in, cat-like, holding one hand up and then strikes down to pull it out effortlessly.

Loki, holding his most recent catch against his chest, gives Steve an amused look as he walks back to the bucket and gently deposits the mollusk. “You don’t have to stay.”

“Being bad at something never stopped me before.”

“Admirable.“ Loki raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps a misplaced effort though. Catching mollusks doesn’t offer many bragging rights.”

“I don’t care about bragging ri--…” Steve hesitates, seeing his abalone riding back in on the next wave. Loki moves, as if to grab it himself, and Steve holds his hand out. This one is _his._  He jumps forward, keeping his eyes focused on the abalone and his hands out, and feels a momentary satisfaction as his hands firmly grasp the mollusk.

Momentary, because very quickly Steve realizes the water is much deeper where he has landed, but his legs, not keeping up with his mind, crumple and he goes completely underwear.

When he emerges, soaking wet, coughing, but still clutching his abalone, he gives a half-embarrassed, half-victorious shrug. “I got it.”

“That you did.” Loki laughs and takes the abalone from Steve’s dripping fingers. “For your dignity’s sake, I _would_ pretend that it didn’t require you falling headfirst into the ocean, but I’m afraid if we don’t get you out of here, you’ll freeze to death. “ He sets the abalone in the bucket and picks it up. “This is enough for today. Come on, I’ve got a blanket in my car.”

“I don’t care much about dignity either.” Steve says through chattering teeth as he follows Loki up the hill.

Loki gives Steve a blanket to wrap himself up in and quickly throws a tarp on the passenger seat so Steve can step in. He turns the heat on high and then goes to the back to put the tops on the buckets and set them in the trunk, then gets in the driver’s seat.

“Should I give you a ride?”

“No.” Steve shakes his head. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just warm up a bit and then drive back myself.”

Loki nods, and there’s silence in the car. It doesn’t feel awkward though, just companionable, and between the lack of sleep and hot air in his face, Steve starts to feel a bit drowsy. He closes his eyes and then—

“So, what do you care about?”

“What?” He opens his eyes to see Loki studying him.

“You don’t care about bragging rights or dignity.” Loki pauses. “But I’ve found, you types always have something. Is it truth? Justice? Patriotism?”

“I..don’t know.” Steve  wraps the blanket a little tighter around himself. “And what do you mean, ‘you types.’?”

“You know, Rangers. Government Men. Uncle Sam’s errand boys. The Boys with the Toys.” 

“Toys?” Steve raises his eyebrows.

“Guns.”

“Oh shit” Steve says and reaches down under his blanket, producing his completely soaked gun. “I forgot about this.”

Loki takes the gun from Steve’s hands. Water falls out of the barrel as he examines it and then looks back at Steve with a strange intensity. “Thor told me once that you should only carry a gun if you have the stomach to line it up to a man’s face and pull the trigger.”

“It’s a good sentiment.” Steve nods. “If you’re not prepared to use it, then having it only makes the situation more dangerous. Although…I’m not sure I would _start_ with the face…”

“That is what makes you one of ‘you types.’ I could never kill a man with a gun.”

And Steve blinks, because although Loki is mocking everything Steve stands for, he’s got this mischievous and not unfriendly smile as he does it, and he’s leaning closer to Steve, his fingers running up and down the barrel of the gun, his green eyes looking into Steve’s and it’s like they are almost having a _moment,_ which is just …weird, but not together unpleasant?

“Oh?” He breathes out. “Because you’re a pacifist?”

“No. “Loki laughs and pulls away. “Guns are too easy.  If I was going to do it, if I was going to kill a man. I’d use a knife. More personal that way.”

Moment gone, thinks Steve. Moment goooooone.

 

#

 

It’s 2pm, and Steve has finally gotten home, changed his clothes, and dropped into bed. So of course the first thing that he hears when his heavy eyes close is a knock on the door. Before he can even get out of bed, Jessica Drew comes barreling into the cabin.

“Don’t you knock?” He grumps as he sits up, blinking.

“Why…were you …uh, busy?” Jessica winks at him. She’s suited up, holding two cups of coffee. Her cheeks have the healthy pink glow of someone who got to sleep in.

He blinks.  “..I was sleeping.”

“It’s okay if you were. I’ve walked in on Tony loads of times. Although, I’m still not entirely convinced that was accidental. ” Jessica laughs at Steve’s grimace. “Where is Tony, anyway?”

Steve shrugs. “I just got back. Didn’t see him this morning either.”

“He disappears sometimes.” Jessica nods and then offers Steve the second cup of coffee. “Caffeine is better than sleep.  Carol’s tied up in some legal thing, so you’ve gotta help me finish my shift. Fury says were up at the buttcrack of dawn with the butthole Norse spawn.”

He takes the cup from her and takes a sip. It’s drowning in sugar and cream.  Steve takes his coffee black, but he chokes it down anyway.  “His words?”

“I may have added some embellishment.” Jessica walks over to the whiteboard that Steve and Tony share. Steve had hoped they could both put their schedules up, so they’d know when the others would be around, but only his is written out in a precise script.

 Tony’s contribution is a game of Hanged Man, which Steve refuses to play, so yesterday Tony drew a little head hanging from the noose.  Jessica picks up a marker and writes “a?” next to the game, then moves over to write “T-- 3:1?? I’ll catch up someday. <3- JD”

“Sort of an inside joke.”  Jessica offers as an explanation. “You ready to go?”

Steve stands up, takes another long drink of the vile coffee, and nods.

Jessica walks to the driver’s seat, and Steve slides in the passenger side, happy to rest. She starts the car. “So what did you think of Loki?”

“I…” Steve pauses. What does he think of Loki? A lot of words fit: creepy, infuriating, but somewhat admirable?  “He’s… interesting.”

“Hrm. I think that’s about the last word I’d use to describe him, but I was raised with all that.”

“All that?”

“You know, the hippy dippy shit. I grew up on a commune outside of Sequim. Bunch of self-serving assholes who act like they’re changing the world by not being a part of it. They don’t _really_ care, you know? ”

Steve is silent, digesting this. It’s hard to miss the bitterness in Jessica’s voice, and he knows he’s just been handed one of the keys to understanding her. At the same time, he feels she isn’t being fair, but he’s not sure how to say that without dismissing her experience.  He doesn’t have to think of anything though, because Jessica quickly changes the subject.

“So…fair warning. Carol and Tony have this bet going about you.”

Steve frowns. “How do I make Carol win?”

Jessica laughs—well, cackles really--and smacks the steering wheel. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, Steve.”

She doesn’t get a chance to answer his question right away, because they pass the Oceanview trailhead and see a red faced man in a bandana hitting the door of a busted up old Jeep. Jessica frowns and pulls the car over.

“Car trouble?” Steve asks as he steps out of the car.

“ _Woman_ trouble.” The man scoffs, casting a disgusted look the woman standing behind him. “She dropped the keys on the trail and _now_ we’re going to have to go back and find them. Nothing for you to trouble yourself with, officer.”

The woman has a miserable expression on her face, one that is uncomfortably familiar to Steve. She flushes and shakes her head, pressing against the side of the Jeep like she hopes it will swallow her up. “Happy to help” he says, looking only at her. “Do you have any idea where they’d be?”

She doesn’t meet his eyes. “I don’t think they’re that far down. I took my jacket off in the last half mile. I can just go by myself.”

“How about I go with you?” Steve looks at Jessica, who is giving the man a very ugly look. “Drew, you good staying here with him?”

“Great.” She nods and crosses her arms. “I’m sure we’ll have just a lovely time.”  

The woman follows Steve on the trail, apologizing. He cuts her off. “Really, ma’am. This is my job.”

“It’s just so _stupid._ I can’t believe I did that. I’m such a flake.”

“It’s not stupid.” Steve holds up overgrown branches on the path and she walks under them. “It’s understandable. And this is an easily solved mistake, I’ve lost keys in much worse situations.”

“Yeah?”

“I used to be in the Coast Guard. Let’s just say that dropping the only set of keys to the motorboat into the ocean when you’ve just embarked on a mission is …frowned upon.”  Steve finds this memory, once a source of embarrassment _and_ joy, is only painful now.  The reason he had dropped the keys was Bucky, sneaking up behind him, wrapping his big arms around Steve and whispering into his ear something that Steve has long forgotten, but wishes he could remember.

She laughs, and the sight of a real smile on her face is enough to pull him out of his sadness. “That _is_ much worse.”

“What’s your name?”

“Lana.”

“Well, Lana. I’m Steve.  If you don’t mind me saying. Do you want to know what is _really_ stupid? Taking out your anger about a situation on someone you care about.”

She’s quiet for a second. “Yeah, I guess he’s being kind of a jerk.”

“A huge jerk. Is he always like this?”

“Kind of?” she admits. “He has his good side…”

“Everyone does.”  Steve stops, catching a glimpse of light reflecting off to his side. He kneels down, brushes over some dead leaves, and pulls out a set of keys.

“You found them!” Lana smiles and takes the keys from him, clutching them close to her like a precious object. “Thank you so much! I owe you a ton.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”  Steve turns to begin walking, but Lana still stands there, considering.

 “I should break up with him.”

Steve shrugs. “Not for me to say. Maybe you owe yourself that.”

She follows him to the car, asking about the Coast Guard and growing up in  New York, and Steve enjoys the chance to talk about his life with someone he will never see again. He can select the pieces he wants to tell, omit the ones he doesn’t, and not have to worry about them not matching up later.

When they get back, Lana’s boyfriend (or as Steve is thinking of him, her soon to be ex boyfriend), is leaning against the Jeep, arms folded sullenly.  When he sees Lana, who holds up the keys, he stiffens.

“Sorry.” He mumbles, and Steve can see from Jessica’s satisfied smile that this apology was not one given willingly.

“Whatever.” Lana says, winks at Steve, and hops in the car. “Thanks for your help, Ranger Steve.”

He tips his hat to her, and they drive off.  

Back in the car, Steve finds himself feeling, for the second time today, job satisfaction. He diffused a difficult situation, helped a lost woman find her keys (and maybe some resolve? He hopes. He knows how much easier these things are to say than do), and established a rapport with Drew. So, all in all, minus the hangover, lack of sleep, and falling into the ocean…good day?

This newfound equilibrium is disrupted, of course, by Jessica’s next statement. “So the bet is about you going on a date.”

“A…date?”

“Yeah, Carol was saying she had ideas of people to set you up with, and Tony said ‘What, who, him? No way. It’ll take months for you to defrost Captain Cold Pants.’ And so Carol said ‘Give me a week.’”

“I….” Steve trails off, not sure where to start.

“This was a week ago, by the way.” Jessica says apologetically. “Carol talks a mean talk, but she was afraid you’d say no. I think the plan is to ambush you tonight, but then Carol was worried because well…we don’t know much about you? Like, you know, if you’re into ladies or men, or then she got all worried, because, what if you’re like..not into _anything_ , you know?”

“….tonight?” Steve repeats weakly. “No, I _can’t_ , I’m exhausted and…”

“It’s just dinner. You’ll have to eat dinner anyway, right?”

“I don’t want to date. I just got out of a relationship and…” Steve hesitates, feeling like he’s given too much away.  “ I’m not ready.”

“Look you don’t have to marry the lady.” Jessica rolls her eyes. “Or dude. This isn’t about _love_ , Steve. It’s about defeating Tony.”

Steve thinks about Tony’s discarded rifle parts he leaves scattered around (“for inspiration”) that Steve steps on in the morning. He thinks of his sneering dismissal of Steve’s Bible (“look if I want mediocre fiction I’ll turn to Clancy”). He thinks of Tony’s nonstop incessant chatting, running commentary on _everything_ Steve does (“Hrm, you ate _before_ you made coffee today. Strange.”) He thinks about Captain Cold Pants.

“Both are fine.”

“What?”

“Ladies, dudes. Both are fine.”

Jessica’s face lights up. “Yes! Oh good, excellent. I have just the right guy for you. He’s _perfect_. Oh, I can’t wait to tell Carol. I’ll text her right now!”

She reaches back to rummage around in her bag, and Steve grabs her arm and gently sets it back on the steering wheel. “Drive now, text later?”

“Aye, aye, Cap—Steve.”

 Steve is about to say something about that, but then he feels a buzz on his leg. He picks up to see phone to see a text message from…Loki? He never got his number. Did Loki program it into his phone when he wasn’t looking?

Their text exchange goes like this:

 

                Loki: AMAZING DISCOVERY. I need a deep sea boat tonight.

                Steve: Can’t. Busy tonight.

                Loki: It’s fine if it’s late. Just meet me when you’re done with…whatever you’re doing.

                Steve: It’s going to be a long day. Can you wait until tomorrow?

                Loki: Fine, I’ll just steal the boat.

               Steve: I’ll text you when I’m done.

 

 Steve thinks: This day will _never_ end, will it? 


End file.
